Withdrawal Symptoms
by Angelus1
Summary: Buffy attempts to get Spike out of her system.
1. 1: Obsession

Spoilers: "Smashed"/"Wrecked" 

Disclaimer: Yeah, right, sure I own 'em. In my dreams. Buffy and Spike are the property of Joss Whedon, UPN, and Mutant Enemy Inc. No copyright infringement is intended. The song is entitled "The Right Kind of Wrong", is sung by LeAnn Rimes, and is used without permission as well.

Author's notes: Goddamn that Thanksgiving Buffy marathon. I started watching the show a few episodes before "Graduation", so seeing all these old episodes is making me contemplate whether Buffy should be with Spike or Angel, whether Angel should be with Buffy or Cordelia, whether Cordelia should be with Angel or Doyle...but at least it's what fueled me to start writing Buffy fic. Let me get the James Marsters bug out of me first, then I might start with Buffy/Angel or Willow/Oz. 

* * *

_Know all about  
Yeah, 'bout your reputation  
And now it's bound to be a heartbreak situation  
But I can't help it if I'm helpless everytime that I'm where you are  
You walk in and my strength walks out the door  
Say my name and I can't fight it anymore  
Oh I know I should go  
But I need your touch just too damn much_

_Loving you  
Isn't really something I should do  
Shouldn't wanna spend my time with you  
I should try to be strong  
But baby you're the right kind of wrong_

_Might be a mistake  
A mistake I'm making  
But what you're giving I am happy to be taking  
'Cuz no one's ever made me feel the way I feel when I'm in your arms.  
They say you're something I should do without  
They don't know what goes on when the lights go out.  
There's no way to explain  
Oh the pleasure is worth all the pain  
_

_I should try to run  
But I just can't seem to  
'Cuz everytime I run you're the one I run to  
Can't do without  
What you to do me I  
Don't care if I'm in too deep, yeah..._

* * *

Buffy Summers awoke with a start. Her surroundings were unfamiliar: a halfway collapsed house in the middle of God knew where. Why was she here? Where was here, for that matter? And why on God's green earth was she not wearing any clothing?!

She sat up, pulling her leather jacket over her exposed chest. Her muscles ached, and her body was covered with tiny bruises. Frowning, she suddenly looked down at the jacket. It wasn't hers. Buffy closed her eyes and, praying, turned around.

There, sprawled out behind her on the ground in a similar state of undress, lay Spike.

"Oh, God," she moaned. "Oh, shit. Goddammitt all to hell." She continued to utter obscenities at random intervals as she rose to her feet and began to pull on her clothes, which were strewn haphazardly across the cold cement floor.

It was all coming back to her now. The fight, Spike's now-defective chip, and then...How could she have lost control like that? How could she have let Spike, of all people, get the best of her?

"No," she stated resolutely. She wasn't going to think; she wasn't going to over-analyze this. She was going to look upon it as the mistake that it was, feel some guilt, and move on. In a few seconds, she would be out of here. All she had to do was find her own jacket. She scanned the room. It could be any where - under any pile of rubble. But when she finally spotted it, it wasn't under any rubble. No, of course not. There it lay, in plain view, taunting her. Right underneath Spike's sleeping head.

A few slow, cautious steps and several muttered curses later, Spike stirred. If only he would just roll over, off of the jacket! But to her horror, he did no such thing. He stayed rooted to the spot and opened his eyes.

"Leaving so soon?" he inquired. She gazed into his eyes and answered his question with one of her own.

"When did the house collapse?" He looked around, the fact just now registering. When his eyes shifted back to meet Buffy's, Spike shrugged.

"Probably somewhere between the first time and..." he trailed off, licking his lower lip. "How many times was that now, luv? I lost count."

"Give me my jacket," she demanded. He rose to sit, dangling the jacket in front of her tantalizingly.

"Come and get it," he challenged. With a roll of her eyes Buffy reached for the piece of dark leather.

She shouldn't have.

Spike's hand shot out and clamped around her wrist, yanking hard. She stumbled, but ultimately failed to regain her balance. Instead, she was neatly delivered into Spike's cold but inviting lap. He jerked her forward by the waist, pressing his lips against hers.

"God, get off of me!" she exclaimed, and wrestled her way free of the vampire's vise-like grip. He grinned.

"You know you want me," he murmured seductively. Buffy placed her feet firmly on the ground, slightly apart, and folded her arms across her chest; it was a stance of defense.

"Let's get one thing straight," she said firmly. "Last night was the most...revolting, cheapening..._perverse_ act I have ever experienced. It was a mistake, and it will _never_ happen again. Are we clear?"

"Perverse?" Spike repeated incredulously. As he spoke, he stood, pulling on his pants. He didn't miss the way Buffy's eyes traveled quickly, appraisingly up and down his body before she averted them. "Oh, come off your high horse, Slayer. I may be perverse, but you gave me a run for my money. Do you think I've forgotten everything already? How I made you scream? How you rode me for all I was worth and sucked me 'till there wasn't a drop left in me? I haven't forgotten. I won't forget. And you know what? I think you liked it. I think you've never had it any better. You can walk away right now, put on as big of a show as you like, but you'll be back. You'll lie awake at night and you'll remember and you'll crave me. You just better hope that when you come crawling back on your knees that I'll still be here for you to use and abuse, then throw away until you've got another itch you've gotta scratch."

By the time he was through speaking, Spike had backed Buffy up against a wall, his body flush with hers. Heat emanated from her skin, making him hard in an instant. He pressed into her until she groaned; until he felt her nipples harden beneath the tiny scrap of fabric she wore as a top against his bare chest. Her lips were mere centimeters away from his, and his gaze strayed up to her eyes, then back to her lips, and finally settled on her eyes, watching as she did the same.

"Spike..." she whispered. It was all the permission he needed. He bent down and forward to capture her mouth beneath his, prying her lips apart so his tongue was able to invade her mouth. He explored her hot, wet depths, a thrill of exhilaration coursing through him as she kissed him back, tongues dueling, fighting for power. Last night, she had been unaware of what she was doing. He could almost forgive her if she left right now, claiming it was nothing but a fit of passion, regardless of where he suspected her true feelings lay. But now, she was completely willing, her warm, soft body yielding to his demanding hands.

He lowered her to the floor, climbing on top of her as he undressed her, and took her again.

* * *

He pulled out of her when he felt the last wave of his orgasm wash over his body. Beneath him, she panted heavily. He rolled off of her and listened while, after resting for a few minutes to get her breath and strength back, she stood and dressed once more. This time, he let her go without comment, but watched her openly. She threw one last backward glance over her shoulder at him, then left.

Spike smiled to himself. Last night, she had sought release from the closest person; him. This morning, she had given herself to him fully and freely.

She would be back. All he had to do now was wait.


	2. 2: Depression

Withdrawal Symptoms (2/3: Depression)  
See first chapter for disclaimer, etc.

* * *

The second Buffy exited the dilapidated house and breathed in huge lungfuls of fresh air, she began to feel better already. As she walked, the Spike-induced haze that clouded her brain was able to dissipate so that she could think clearly. Yes, she had just spent an entire evening making love to someone who was supposed to be her worst enemy, but that was over and done with now, and the things of everyday living resumed. There were important things to worry about now - namely the fact that she had left Dawn alone all night.

Turning onto Rodello Drive, she paused a moment to examine herself in the window of another house on the street. Her hair was a mess, her clothes were dirty, disheveled, and torn, and her eyes were ringed with the dark purple circles that indicated her lack of sleep. In short, she looked exactly how she felt - like crap. With a sigh she continued walking until she was in her own driveway.

Banging through the kitchen door, she was surprised to see Tara there. "Hi," she said, with a look that clearly stated the question.

"There was nobody here when we got back so I told Dawnie I'd stay with her. I guess we both kind of fell asleep." Now it was her turn for the questioning look.

"Demon," Buffy stated simply, as if the one word explained it all. Which it did, in a way, but certainly not the way that they were thinking. She was the Slayer after all - she was supposed to be killing demons, not sleeping with them in old abandoned houses.

Tara nodded, her face blank, giving Buffy no clue as to whether she believed her or not, as Dawn walked into the room. "Buffy!" she exclaimed. "Where were you?"

"Demon," Tara supplied.

"Oh, are you allright? Is it dead? Is this something we should be worried about? Should I call Xander and Anya?" Buffy laughed, relieved that no matter what, one person would always be there for her. "I'm fine," she reassured her sister. The thought brought a guilty tinge as well, because she was knowingly lying to the sister that had always been so loyal to her, but she quickly shoved it to the back of her mind, concentrating instead on the pancakes Tara was cooking.

"Ooh, man those look good," she said, sliding into a chair at the island and wincing in pain. She had used muscles she hadn't even known she had had last night, which were now screaming out in protest.

"Oh God, what happened? Did you get hurt?" Willow asked, entering just then with Amy in tow.

"Demon," Dawn said, nodding sagely. Willow nodded in return, studying Buffy's state of disarray with suspicion. When her eyes met Buffy's, they clearly said that she didn't believe a word of it. Buffy smiled sheepishly. That was her Will - perceptive as ever.

"Well...I should probably be going now," Amy said meekly. Tara eyed her from across the room, slipping off the oven mitts she was wearing and setting them on the kitchen counter.

"Yeah, me too," she said, refusing to meet Willows eyes. Buffy felt another stab of guilt go through her. Willow had hit a rough patch, and there had been nobody there to cushion her fall. I should've been there, Buffy thought sadly. But I can be there for her now.

"I, uh...yeah, I...I guess so. Uhm...bye," Willow stuttered, watching as both Amy and Tara disappeared without another word.

"I have school," Dawn added, almost as an afterthought. "I'm gonna be late."

"Where's Xander?" Buffy asked. As is on cue, he burst in the door that Amy and Tara had just left through, his shirt only half-buttoned, his shoes untied, and his hair uncombed.

"Oh my God I'm so sorry the alarm didn't go off and Anya left early to go to the shop and I'm _so_ sorry I'm late 'cuz now Dawn's gonna be late and..." Xander stopped mid-babble, realizing that all three women were staring. "Okay, I'll be quiet now," he said. Willow and Dawn exchanged impressed glances.

"Wow," Dawn said.

"All in one breath," Willow agreed.

"Allright, let's get this show on the road. Dawn, go with Xander before you really are late. Xander, you're forgiven."

"We'll see you lovely ladies this afternoon then," he tossed over his shoulder as he hustled Dawnie out the door.

"We'll be here," Buffy assured him. In a few seconds they heard the engine of his car roar to life and peel out of the driveway, hurrying to get her sister to school on time. Meanwhile, she was left in the kitchen with Willow, her best friend since the tenth grade. All in all a normal morning.

Except for the fact that she had just spent the night with her mortal enemy.

* * *

"Okay, where were you really last night," Willow asked, getting situated in a comfy chair at the kitchen island. "Don't worry, we've got _all_ day."

Buffy sighed. "Wills, I really don't think you want to hear this."

"Oh, trust me - I do. Now, I know that some of the cuts and bruises could have possibly come from a demon, but _this_?" She lifted Buffy's hair to reveal a gigantic purplish hickey. Her friend sighed again.

"Actually...that was from a demon, too."

"Buffy, c'mon - how stupid do you think I am? Look, if you want to lie to everyone else, then fine. Not that I'm condoning it or anything, but what you choose to tell them is your own business. But me? Buffy, tell them anything you want, but please don't lie to me." Willow's eyes were shining, and it was then that Buffy realized just how much her friend needed her, and just how much it must have hurt that she kept pushing her away.

"It _was_ a demon," she insisted. With a frustrated huff, Willow stood and turned to exit the kitchen.

"Will, wait - listen to me!" she called.

"I don't want to hear it, Buffy."

"It was Spike." Willow's footsteps froze on the stairs, and slowly, she turned around and re-entered the kitchen.

"Spike?" she asked incredulously. "You left Dawnie home alone all night to go bang _Spike_?!"

"Will, please don't do this," Buffy begged. "I feel bad and disgusted with myself as it is - don't try to make me feel guilty, too."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Oh, come on - you were out all night, too - don't be a hypocrite."

"I thought _you_ would be home!" Willow exclaimed.

"And I thought you would be at home!" Buffy countered. The two friends glared at one another across the kitchen. "Where were you last night, anyway? And with Amy? You know, I wasn't the only one that was worried - I could tell by the look on her face that Tara - "

"Shut up!" Willow shouted. Buffy jumped back as if she'd been slapped. This wasn't the Willow she had befriended back in high school; the shy, soft-spoken, reliable best friend with the goofy adorable crush on Xander. This was someone completely different.

"You don't know the first thing about me and Tara! It's none of your business, so leave us both alone and go back to boinking the undead. You're good at it, remember?" And with that, she spun on her heel and raced out of the room. Five seconds later, Buffy heard the door to her room slam shut, and she fell backwards into a chair in stunned silence.

* * *

Some time later, Buffy managed to brave the stairs and haul her tired body up to her room. At promptly five-thirty, Willow's door opened and she marched down the hallway without so much as a word or a bang on the door directed at Buffy. She knew she should probably go, too - the gang was expecting her. But somehow, she couldn't manage to make herself move.

She was disturbed to find that while she lay there, she was thinking of Spike; of how much better she would feel if he were here with her right now to wrap his arms around her and kiss her shoulder, then her neck, then her mouth...As if by their own accord, Buffy's fingers wandered to the waistband of her jeans. She brushed them across the skin of her stomach, then the small patch of skin between her stomach and her pubic hair, before finally realizing what she was doing.

Disgusted with herself, Buffy leaped savagely out of her bed and tore down the halls and the stairs into the kitchen, where she pulled out ropes and ropes of garlic from the pantry and the staple gun from a drawer near the garage. Back upstairs, she went through her room in a frenzy, first stapling the garlic to every available inch of her wall, then retrieving a bottle of holy water from her closet and using it to soak the wooden windowsill with.

When her room was finally completely vamp-proofed, Buffy collapsed back onto her bed.

And that was when the tears began to fall.


End file.
